


Knocks on the head can't knock you up

by alkjira



Series: Fix-it (!) December [10]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Fluff and Crack, Husbands, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: </p><p>'A few people have done the -male hobbits can have babies and the dwarves have a hard time understanding/accepting/believing Bilbo is in the family way trope, that idea turned around. Dwarves can have mpreg and Thorin is knocked up and Bilbo just doesn't believe it. Thinks maybe his dear dwarf got hit on the head a bit hard during bofa perhaps.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxDragon/gifts).



> Just a quicky, limited computer time at the moment.

When Thorin said that he was expecting their child Bilbo smiled and touched his husband’s (flat) belly and played along until he could escape and find Óin.  
  
“Thorin has just told me he’s with child,” Bilbo hissed to the healer, expecting Óin to look very worried indeed about such delusions that could only stem from the very hard knock on the head Thorin received during the battle against the Orcs, the knock that Óin had said was _fine_.  
  
 _Clearly_ it was not fine.  
  
But Óin did not appear to be worried. Not if Bilbo was to judge by the slap on the back he received and Óin’s heartfelt congratulations.  
  
Narrowing his eyes Bilbo tried to remember if Óin could possibly have received any knocks on the head as well during the battle. He couldn’t recall such a thing, but perhaps Óin's reaction was simply a result of the Dwarven - clearly very dangerous - tradition of knocking their heads against each other in greeting.  
  
-

  
Further investigation lent more credibility to that theory as no one he spoke to seemed to think it the least bit strange that Thorin claimed that he was with child.  
  
Bofur got so giddy that Bilbo thought he’d bounce himself through the top of the mountain.  
  
Clearly the repeated head-knocking was very detrimental to everyone’s ability to know what logic and reason was.  
  
Because Thorin couldn’t be with child.

Nope.  
  
Not for a lack of certain activities, but even so…  
  
No.  
  
He couldn’t.  
  
Which was why the sudden appearance of a baby’s crib in their quarters was somewhat alarming. Though almost _as_ alarming was the fact that it was almost entirely covered in sapphires.  
  
“Isn’t that a little too much?” Bilbo found himself saying when he’d really meant to protest the appearance of a crib at all. “I assume the treasure chambers are close to devoid of sapphires.”

Thorin didn’t deny it, and didn’t even look the slightest bit apologetic.  
  
“Sapphires will bring good luck.”  
  
Bilbo blinked. “Blue bits of crystal will bring good luck?”  
  
The untrained eye might have missed seeing the mulish look settling over Thorin’s face, but Bilbo had no such problems.

Searching for a change of subject Bilbo didn’t really succeed at finding one, but at least his choice moved things away from the current direction.  
  
“Where did you find the crib? I guess there might still be some sapphires around because you couldn’t possibly have had it made after you-“ and everyone else lost their minds. “-told me.”  
  
The mulish look softened and Bilbo congratulated himself.  
  
“It was mine,” Thorin said and stroked his fingers along the top of it. “And then Frerin’s and then Dís'. Fíli and Kíli could never use it, but now our child can.”

The quiet happiness in Thorin’s voice was so intense that for a few moments Bilbo entirely forgot that there wasn’t going to be a child that could sleep in it.  
  
“Thorin…”  
  
“Yes?” Thorin frowned at the look on Bilbo’s face. “Do you not like sapphires?”  
  
“I- they’re fine.”

“Fine,” Thorin repeated, not looking convinced. “Do you prefer emeralds?”  
  
“No, sapphires fine. The crib is, erm, lovely, but-“ Bilbo hesitated. It was almost time for bed. Was it possible that Thorin, and everyone else, could wake up tomorrow and be back to normal Dwarven levels of insanity that only included such things as disliking all Elves on sight and thinking vegetables other than potatoes were somehow out to hurt you?  
  
Probably not. But Bilbo could not make himself tell Thorin that they were not going to have a baby. Not yet.  
  
“But don’t you think it’s a little _early_ to have it here?”  
  
“It will bring good luck,” Thorin said, mulish expression making a return.  
  
“Ah,” Bilbo said, glancing at the crib. “I see.”  
  
-

  
Later that night, after the crib had been moved to a place where they'd at least not repeatedly stumble over it, and after there'd been absolutely no talks about the impossibility of Thorin being with child, Bilbo was more than half-way asleep when his husband said something, voice no louder than a whisper.  
  
“I’m sorry, what?” Bilbo murmured, eyes blinking open to peer at his Dwarf.  
  
“I’ve always liked the name Dagný.”

“Mmm, yes, it’s nice,” Bilbo sighed and his eyes began to fall shut once more.

“Dagný for a girl.” And suddenly Bilbo was a lot more awake.  
  
“Um, Thorin…”  
  
“You don’t like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“’You don’t like it.”

“No I like it just- _look_ ,” Bilbo crawled his way out of his blankets. “I’m not having this discussion again only about names this time. Dagný is a beautiful name but-“

“Really?”

“Really, but-“ Bilbo looked into earnest blue eyes, his heart aching just a little. “Could we talk about this in the morning?” He reached out for Thorin’s hand, twining his smaller fingers together with those of his husband. “I think-“

The door to their bedroom was thrown open with a bang.  
  
“I’m going to be an aunt and you didn’t have the decency to tell me yourself!?"  
  
Oh _no_.  
  
He had really been counting on Dís to be the voice of reason. If someone as sensible as her had also gotten one too many knocks on the head then what was a Hobbit to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I added another bit to this, would anyone be interested in reading?
> 
> (lol, when do you think he figures it out?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the rest of this story :)  
> Thanks a lot for all the hilarious and lovely comment on the first chapter.

He was going to go insane himself, that was what he was going to do.  
   
First there was the stress of being the only sane person in the entire mountain. Yes, in the _entire_ mountain. You might think that it would be impossible for all of the Dwarfs to have gotten knocked on the head, but apparently not!  
   
Perhaps it could be something like the gold-sickness. Only with less paranoia, less greed, and more glee and enthusiastic suggestions for baby names. Not to mention that Ori had already knitted more knitted _things_ than a baby could possibly ever need.  
  
But Dwarfs really did love children, that much was clear. And children were much rarer than they were in the Shire. Which might be part of the problem.   
  
It could be that they simply did not want to crush Thorin's dream, so instead they went on believing that a little one would be making an appearance, both for Thorin's sake and their own.  
   
With the downside that every time he tried to broach the subject with someone Bilbo felt like _he_ was the crazy one.  
 

-

  
He was going to have a talk with Ori, a very serious talk, but Ori had been busy knitting a tiny sheath for a tiny dagger. A tiny _dagger_. The tiny part was thereby made entirely irrelevant.   
  
“You’ve got to be joking,” Bilbo said and stared incredulously at this friend. “No. No weapons for children.” It didn’t matter that the child was an imaginary one. No imaginary child of his was going to be armed when they were still in nappies.  
  
“It’ll just be a wooden one,” Ori tried, but Bilbo glared at him.  
  
“No.”  
  
And that discussion ended up with Bilbo needing to get Thorin and having him promise that there would _not_ be any daggers around, wooden or otherwise.  
  
Or, rather it ended with Bilbo realising that he’d spent hours arguinh about something that would only be relevant _if_ he and Thorin ever _adopted_ a child. And quite honestly, they appeared to both be too mentally unstable for it to be a good idea.  
  
(Though it seemed to be a Dwarven tradition to have slightly unstable rulers so perhaps that part was perfectly all right. But Bilbo was still doubtful regarding the child part.)  
  
-  
  
He’d tentatively made plans to talk to Fíli and Kíli as well, knowing it would be difficult since they were over the moon at the prospect of having a tiny cousin.  
  
“What if- what if there’d not be a baby?”  
  
“What?” Kíli blinked.  
  
“Is Thorin feeling all right?” Fíli asked, putting his hand on Bilbo’s arm. “He’s not said anything to us.”  
  
“Uncle is sick?” Kíli breathed, and then he was off.   
  
He was eventually calmed again after Thorin had sworn that he was feeling all right, a couple of dozen times.  
  
Bilbo felt incredibly bad about it all, trying to haltingly explain that he hadn’t meant it like that at all, while at the same time biting his tongue to not say anything that might be worse.  
  
-  
   
And every time he'd tried to broach the subject with Thorin... well. It was hard. In more ways than one.  
   
-  
  
“Thorin?” Bilbo called when he heard the door to their chambers open. He was sitting at his writing desk, decidedly not writing.  
  
“Expecting anyone else?”  
  
“Could we talk?”  
  
“Is there something wrong?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo turned around and opened his mouth and… didn’t close it again.  
  
“Wha-, what _are_ you wearing?”  
  
Thorin glanced down at his mostly bare chest and shrugged as if it wasn’t something out of the ordinary. But Bilbo would definitely argue that it was _not_ normal for Thorin to come home wearing a pair of rather tight trousers, _bare_ feet, and instead of a shirt he had chains made of different metals wrapped around his arms and shoulders and trailing down over his chest.

“There was a ceremony today,” Thorin explained.   
  
“A _ceremony_ ,” Bilbo choked out.  
  
“We thank Mahal for his blessings.” Thorin began to unwind the chains. “Did I not tell you about this?”  
  
It was possible that he had, but since Bilbo’s relationship with the Valar was more on the level of ‘great job creating us, thanks for that, see you maybe in the afterlife?’ it was also quite possible that he’d not really paid much attention.  
  
What he knew for sure was that there’d not been any mentions of Thorin being half-naked.   
  
Suffice to say that they’d soon been a little too distracted to have a talk.  
   
-

  
And when they (yes, Bilbo wasn’t taking _all_ the blame for this) weren’t distracted Bilbo just simply couldn't get himself to say the words.  
  
He knew he had to, but he couldn't.  
  
Thorin was just so happy. The last time Bilbo had been concerned for his Dwarf’s sanity, during the mess with the Arkenstone, he’d been far from happy. Happy had not even factored into it. Happy had gone on a boat and sailed away to the Undying Lands.  
  
But now Thorin went around smiling at nothing, humming to himself, filling their chambers with all sorts of baby related things. It was… impossible to try and take that away.

Bilbo could not crush Thorin’s dreams, so if the rest of the mountain had the same reasoning behind their behaviour he entirely understood them.  
  
-  
  
Then the day came when Bilbo realised that his grasp on reality was definitely beginning to slip.  
   
Thorin’s stomach. There was a... _roundness_ to it.  
  
There has never been one before, just ridges of muscle  
   
It was of course related to access to more food in Erebor than they’d had on the road, not to mention that Thorin had taken to joining Bilbo for almost all of the seven daily meals.  
  
But for a moment, a single moment, Bilbo had thought... He’d thought…  
   
 _Clearly_ he was succumbing to the pressure.   
  
-  
  
Things went on as normal for a bit after that. Or what had become normal at any rate.  
  
Thorin’s stomach got a little bigger. But nothing like what Bilbo would have expected and when he inquired about this, _very_ cautiously, he was told that Dwarfs carried their children for a year. An entire _year_.  
  
“Is it not the same for Hobbits?” Dís asked and Bilbo mutely shook his head.  
  
“Six months,” he managed. Was he going to need to live through this for an entire year before everyone could agree that they must have been mistaken and go on with their lives?  
  
As it turned out, he did not.  
  
-  
  
  
They were tangled together in bed, Bilbo draped along Thorin’s side. Thorin was humming something beneath his breath that had to be a lullaby considering how quickly Bilbo was falling asleep.  
  
When Thorin stopped humming to laugh Bilbo murmured something beneath his breath and nudged Thorin with his toes.  
  
“He or she is moving around,” Thorin said, smile obvious in his voice and Bilbo hid a sigh, because it’d just be gas. But he didn’t protest when Thorin took his hand and rested it on his (still mostly flat) stomach.  
  
Nothing happened, and Bilbo looked at Thorin. “I think-“  
  
 _Something_ nudged his palm.   
  
Bilbo snatched his hand away and stared at Thorin’s stomach, which looked entirely innocent.  
   
Gas did not nudge you. It gurgled and bubbled and annoyed you, occasionally made you wrinkle your nose, but it did not _nudge_ you.  
  
“Amazing isn’t it,” Thorin said, curling his big warm hand around Bilbo’s neck. With his other hand he gently pulled Bilbo’s hand back to rest on his stomach. “You won’t hurt us.”  
  
“That’s- that’s-“ Bilbo stammered when he felt another… kick.

“Our child,” Thorin murmured, voice a quiet content rumble.

For a moment Bilbo wondered if there was a possibility for Dwarfs to actually have parasites (really big ones, the biggest) in their... in their.. tubes? But…  
  
“Our. Child.”  
  
Thorin nodded and laughed again when the third kick came.  
  
-  
  
The rest of Thorin’s pregnancy went by in somewhat of a blur for Bilbo. So let’s skip to the main event.  
 

-  
  
“I can hardly believe it,” Bilbo breathed as Óin handed him his daughter. His _daughter_. _His_ daughter.

Dagný.  
   
“I know,” Thorin agreed giving him a tired but very happy smile. “It almost doesn’t seem real.”  
  
Bilbo very carefully bit his tongue and did not make any further comments on the matter, instead counting ten little fingers and ten little toes.

If he'd gone as insane as the rest of them, he'd stay like this, thank you very much.


End file.
